


Unpleasant beginnings

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Garrett Hawke, Kirkwall disaster [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: They flee to Kirkwall for a fresh start.  It's not quite the one they bargained for.
Series: Garrett Hawke, Kirkwall disaster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053437
Kudos: 3





	Unpleasant beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder** that Dragon Age II and all recognisable content/characters are the property of Bioware. I only play in the sandpit they've created.

His bones are weighted stones in the shell of his skin, dragging him down so that every step is a battle of its own. Two weeks locked in fight-or-flight mode with the latter a death sentence for either he or a loved one, an _impossible_ option. Two _weeks_ , and his first chance at some rest is... well. Less than ideal.

Garrett turns a blind eye to the tremble in his fingers when he passes them over his hair, undoing braids and removing beads and placing them in a pouch he likely won't see again for a while, not with a distinct lack of... _adequate_ bathing facilities. Not that their home in Lothering had much to offer, but at least the tub was a decent size to sit in and the water supply somewhat fresh. At least they had some space to branch out and breathe without being on top of one another.

Twenty-two years of caution and secrecy and keeping to themselves, and in the blink of an eye the life he's known until now has been flipped on its head, yanked inside out, and smothered in Blight's poison. A father poorer, a mother grieving, and two younger siblings as weary and numb as he, and an uncle he's not quite ready to acknowledge as a relation _just_ yet.

He can hear his mother and Gamlen arguing in the back room despite their hushed tones, she indignant still that her children must serve another's whim for a year, and Gamlen irked by their unannounced intrusion on his life.

"What do we do now?" Bethany asks, voice pitched for her brothers alone, and Carver curves an arm around her, cheek pressed to her hair as he replies.

"For now? Rest."

"And after that?"

"Whatever we must to survive," is Garrett's answer. A bleak one, but a true one.

Survival... starting with their debt to Athenril.

* * *

Luck lands him squarely in the docks without incident, eyes wide open and head on a swivel with Gamlen's quiet warning in mind _(Kirkwall's a vicious place, boy, especially for mages)._ The streets are no less dusty and dirty with weak sunlight hitting them, the buildings no less lifeless and dull, a cage if ever he's seen one and yet it's preferable to being stuck under the same roof as his mother and her misplaced ire.

To blame _him_ for father's death, when he'd tackled Bethany aside and dragged Carver along with a fist of magic, rolled them both away from immediate danger; when _she'd_ remained frozen in place, planting father where he stood in _defence_ of her. To say it was _his_ fault, when father made his choice in those final moments, valued her life enough to sacrifice his own. To have the _gall_ to face him not a week later with dry eyes and straight spine and venom on her tongue and _demand_ he keep his sister safe, as if he hadn't done so already with the ogre, as if he never thought to be better, bigger, _stronger_ to watch over his siblings all their lives. How dare she. How _dare_ she!

Fury simmers under his skin, needling and sharp as the teeth of demons in the Fade, pushing for release at fingertips made red and blistered from the heat. Garrett ignores it, wills ice through his veins to quiet it, so very careful to keep it _subtle_ lest his breath mist in front of his face and act as a clarion call for the suspicious eyes around every corner and the city guards to follow.

Yes, better he wanders the streets alone until grief settles its cloak around him again, a sharper pain to dwell on rather than the viper's bite in his mother's mouth. Better he learns the layout of their new home with his own feet, building habit and muscle memory and familiarity for the inevitable day they'll need to run when the templars kick down the front door and breach the paralysis wards. Better he approach Athenril on his own, first, get a feel for the price of her gang's protection.

And as if summoned by the mere thought of her name, the elf in question appears in the shadow of a warehouse. She makes no show of knowing him, doesn't even _glance_ at him, but her head tips _just so_ and he recognises a summons when he sees it, swivels on his heel to walk in her general direction, pausing only once to make a show of getting his bearings. There are plenty of alleys and hidey holes here, but escape routes? Not so much, not unless one facies their chances in the sea or running face first into a wall.

"Athenril."

"Hawke. You're early - and missing two shadows."

"Oh, you know what they say. _The early bird gets the worm."_

"But the second mouse gets the cheese," she replies, smirking, and Garrett scowls, slingshot straight back into fury's bountiful territory. Only lukewarm _pissed_ , instead.

"Planning on making it a competition between the three of us?"

"Making it anything other than business implies I give a damn about you, Hawke. I don't. I just want my money's worth out of you. All _three_ of you," flash in her eyes, threat in her tone, and Garrett - can't retort a damn thing.

She turns then, imperious as any queen expecting him to follow, and he does, head down and steps measured to remain three paces behind her, cowed as any loyal subject. It's going to be a _long_ year.


End file.
